


Time and Time Again

by Ghost_in_the_Hella



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Multiple Realities, Pricefield Week 2019, not every reality is a happy one, pricefield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-12-02 00:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20944313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ghost_in_the_Hella/pseuds/Ghost_in_the_Hella
Summary: A short fic spanning multiple very different realities with one constant: Max loves Chloe.





	Time and Time Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Pricefield Week 2019 for the prompt Time. Fair warning, this was literally written in a day and is unbeta'd and has had virtually no revision. Also, happy Rewind Week/Strange Week!
> 
> Title is from the Counting Crows song of the same name.

Max carefully wipes another grain of sand from Chloe’s face. How do they keep getting in her _eyes_? “Hold still.”  
  
“Like I have any choice?” The line between Chloe’s self-deprecating humor and her actual self-pity is so fine as to be at times impossible to distinguish. This is a constant across all times and all realities, but it’s exacerbated in realities where Chloe’s not able to use body language. She must be able to sense Max’s uncertainty, because she quickly adds, “I’m just kidding, Caulfield. Chill. I’ll _tell_ you when I’m pissed at you.”  
  
“Somehow, I don’t find that very comforting.” Max brushes Chloe’s hair back. It keeps tumbling forward, getting in her way. It’s kind of cute, but it’s also pretty annoying. “You could use a trim,” she says absently, giving Chloe’s face one last wipe for good measure. She tosses the washcloth in the direction of Chloe’s laundry pile.  
  
“Not a bad idea. Might be time for a whole new look. How do you think a buzzcut would suit me?”  
  
Max snorts. Although once the image settles in her mind, she finds it’s actually not unappealing. Chloe’s got killer cheekbones, and her jawline is pretty stunning… If anyone she knew could pull off that look, it’d be Chloe, no question.  
  
“Okay, okay, maybe not,” Chloe laughs. “Just trying to think of haircuts that wouldn’t require you to use scissors. I love you, but I’m not sure I trust you with scissors near my face.”  
  
Max fails to suppress the blush that rises to her cheeks. Chloe - for once in her life (in her lives?) the picture of tact - doesn’t comment, although a smug little smirk does appear on her lips. “I, um, I…” Max blinks as a thought cuts through her stammering. “Wait, am _I_ giving you this hypothetical haircut?”  
  
Chloe grins. “Yep yep! Now’s your chance for payback! Remember that time I tried to give you a haircut when you were six?”  
  
Max laughs and buries her face in her hands. Her parents had thrown a _fit_ that day. They'd lectured her throughout the entire emergency appointment with the barber. “Oh, god, how could I forget… Chloe, I don’t think I could do any better now than you did when we were kids.”  
  
“Hmm, you’re probably right… Well, what about hair dye? Think you could handle that?”  
  
“I guess as long as it isn’t permanent. I don’t want to ruin your hair. What…” Max worries her lower lip between her teeth for a long moment. “What color do you think you’d want?”  
  
Chloe makes a face that’s her equivalent of a shrug. “Dunno.” She gives Max a sly smile. “What’s your favorite color?”  
  
Blue. Always blue. Like Chloe’s eyes, like… “Doesn’t work that way,” Max chides her, trying to keep the emotions bottled up inside of her. “_You_ need to choose the color.”  
  
The towels are blue. They used to be white. “The hotel manager is going to murder us,” Max declares, holding up a horrendously stained towel for Chloe’s inspection.  
  
Chloe shrugs. “Motel, not hotel. Motels don’t give a fuck.” She contemplates for a second. “Probably.” Blue drips onto the floor. Chloe’s shoulders are blue. “We could just take them.”  
  
Max is staring again. Chloe notices and smirks. “Wh-what, the towels?”  
  
“Yeah, the towels. People steal hotel towels all the time. It’s tradition.”  
  
“Motel, not hotel…” Max corrects, her mind beginning to wander into fields of blue. Chloe takes the towel out of Max’s hands. Chloe’s hands are blue.  
  
“So we’ll take the towels. The motel will never know.”  
  
The shower is blue. The sink is blue. The floor is blue. Somehow, even part of the ceiling is blue.  
  
“I’m pretty sure they’ll figure it out.”  
  
Blue fingers run through Max’s hair, trace her ear, the line of her jaw, her collarbone, lower, lower… “I’m pretty sure I don’t give a shit.” Chloe’s eyes are blue. “I’m pretty sure _you_ don’t give a shit.”  
  
Max’s shirt is blue. Her shorts are blue. The pillowcases are blue. The sheets are blue. And, no, Max doesn’t give a shit. Not anymore.  
  
It’s been a year since the storm devoured their hometown. It took everything. Both of their childhood homes. Blackwell. The Two Whales diner. The hospital. Pan fucking Estates. Their old treehouse. Everything, everything, everything…  
  
Everything except for this. Everything except for Max and Chloe.  
  
Max holds Chloe tighter, and she swears that she’ll never let go.  
  
Max is blue.  
  
Max wants a tattoo. A butterfly. Blue, of course. She flips through the pages in the artist’s book and nothing feels _right_. It’s full of butterflies, but none of them are _her_ butterfly.  
  
This is a mistake.  
  
She’s on the verge of getting up and hightailing it out of the tattoo parlor when the artist comes out and calls her into the back for her consultation. She’s too polite to run out and slam the door in their face, so she follows them into the small room.  
  
The artist listens patiently as Max tries to explain what she’s looking for and ends up just spilling her guts. She’s giving them way more information than they need to give her a fucking butterfly tattoo, but she can’t stop. They nod in all the right places and make those sympathetic eyes that Max has seen so many times in the past year, too many times; she wishes people would just _stop feeling sorry for her_.   
  
Max looks away from those “so sorry for your loss” eyes and tries to focus on the art on the walls as the words keep pouring out of her. They’re really good. Maybe she should just get something else tattooed. Maybe this is too personal. But her mouth hasn’t stopped moving and those fucking _noises_ are still coming out of it, so it’s probably already too late.  
  
“So… a blue butterfly?” the tattoo artist asks when Max finally shuts the fuck up long enough for them to get a word in. They’re holding out a box of tissues to her, and that’s when Max finally notices the tears running down her face.  
  
“Yeah,” she sighs in resignation as she takes a tissue and wipes at her wet face. “A blue butterfly.”  
  
Max wishes her torn photo hadn’t been taken as evidence. That might actually make a decent tattoo: the two pieces of the photo, of the butterfly, of Max herself.   
  
She tunes out as the artist keeps on talking, nodding vaguely as they pull up images on their computer, trying to smile and pay attention when they pull out another book of sketches and start pointing out different butterflies.  
  
They’re nice. Some of them are quite beautiful, actually. But none of them are right. Chloe would have done it better.  
  
Max leaves with a followup appointment scheduled, which she’s not at all convinced she’s going to keep. She wonders what the best way to get out of this is without ending up with the same goddamn butterfly tattoo every girl her age gets at some point.  
  
She doesn’t want just any butterfly, she wants _her_ butterfly, she wants _Chloe_.  
  
Max wants Chloe, and she wishes that she didn’t because it would be so much simpler if she just _didn’t_. She loves their long video calls, but it always hurts a little to see Rachel flitting around in the background, popping into the foreground once in a while to wave hello to Max or kiss Chloe on the cheek.   
  
It’s better than before Rachel graduated from Blackwell, at least. It was great to get to see Chloe so often after going years without seeing her at all, but it could be… _awkward_. Especially in the showers the next morning.  
  
The noise-canceling headphones she bought with her birthday money were worth their weight in gold. They were comfortable enough to sleep in, fortunately.  
  
Max knows she should be grateful to have Chloe in her life at all. After all, she’s the one who ghosted Chloe for half a decade when she most needed a friend. And she should be grateful to Rachel for taking such good care of her.  
  
Max wishes she could just be happy for the two of them. They look so happy. Their apartment seems to be smaller than Max’s dorm room, and it’s a total mess with Chloe’s clothes tossed all over the place, but they seem so thrilled to be out of Arcadia Bay and making it on their own. Rachel’s waitressing and picking up sporadic modeling gigs and sometimes small acting jobs for commercials. Chloe’s studying for her GED and bussing tables. Maybe it’s not the glamorous life of their dreams, but they really seem to be loving every minute of it.  
  
She genuinely _wants_ to be happy for them. But there was that three month period last year when Chloe and Rachel were on the rocks, and Chloe was so achingly miserable but Max… sort of felt like she maybe had a chance? But then they patched things up and got back together, and good friend that she is Max had supported Chloe every inch of the way, but she could never really get the thought out of her mind that maybe… maybe…  
  
“Yo, Max! Did this thing freeze or are you zoning out again?” Chloe’s finger pops into the frame of the video call to tap the camera.  
  
Max shakes her head to clear it. “I’m still here. Just… zoning,” she admits.  
  
“Classic Caulfield. So did you hear the part I was telling you about coming to visit?”  
  
“What? No, I missed that.”  
  
“So Rach and I were thinking… I mean, this place is pretty small, not gonna lie, but we could totally toss a sleeping bag on the floor or something if you wanted to come see what this Cali life is all about. Plus, y’know, it’d be good to spend some time with you.”  
  
Max blinks slowly. “But… school?”  
  
Chloe chuckles. “Man, you really weren’t paying attention, were you? Not right now! But you do get breaks from school, and do you really need to spend every second of your break with your parents?”  
  
Sleeping on Chloe and Rachel’s floor sounds both incredibly appealing and utterly horrifying. “I don’t know… You know how my parents can be.”  
  
“I know, I know; they keep that leash short as fuck.”  
  
“_Hey_!”  
  
“But we figured you could maybe tell them you’re looking at colleges out here? And, I mean…” Chloe rubs the back of her neck, looking slightly nervous. “Maybe we could actually take you to check out some of the colleges around here?”  
  
“Look at colleges? In California?”  
  
“I mean… yeah, if you wanted to…” Chloe’s noticeably fidgeting. “It’s just a thought… You totally don’t have to, but it might be cool if you moved out here, too. You know, when you finish at Blackwell. There’s tons of schools out here with photography programs, and hey, if you get into someplace nearby…” She shrugs, trying to look casual and failing hard. “I dunno, it’d be really cool to have you around again. Have both of my best friends in the same state with me.” It’s hard to tell with how pixelated the video is, but it appears that Chloe is blushing. Max takes a screenshot to preserve the image and feels like she just photographed a unicorn.   
  
“That does sound really nice,” Max concedes.  
  
Rachel’s voice suddenly rings out through the speakers of Max’s laptop. “Did you ask her?” Seconds later, Rachel appears in the doorway behind Chloe. She grins at Chloe’s guilty, blushing face. “You hella did!” She walks up and swats Chloe playfully on the shoulder. “You bitch! We were going to ask her together!”  
  
“She twisted my arm, babe! And, uh, I didn’t ask her everything…”  
  
Max cocks her head to one side. “You didn’t?”  
  
Chloe glances back at the camera. “Um… No. Not exactly.” She glances back to Rachel. “I asked her about looking at schools, but not, um…”  
  
“Not the roommates thing?” Rachel finishes for her, and Chloe nods.  
  
A buzzing fills Max’s ears. “I’m sorry, what?”   
  
Rachel turns to the camera. “Sorry, Max; that probably wasn’t the classiest way to ask. We can talk about it more when you come to visit, okay? Maybe over some pizza? Or sushi! Do you eat sushi? There’s this amazing place--”  
  
Max tries to focus on the words Rachel and Chloe keep directing at her, but all she can hear is the buzzing in her head and the word “roommates” echoing over and over. Do they really want her to _move in with them_?  
  
This is too much. Max can’t even begin to handle it.  
  
The first month of classes had been really hard, but Max had figured that it would get easier as she settled into college life. Clearly, she was wrong.  
  
As a matter of fact, it’s one month into the semester and Max still hasn’t actually settled into college life at all.  
  
She and her roommate don’t really get along, her classes are _way_ more work than she was used to in high school, she’s never lived away from her home in Seattle before, and her photography teacher is making everyone use a manual camera and regular film, which is actually kind of cool but incredibly time-consuming and she’s pretty sure the chemicals are eating her brain.  
  
To make matters worse, today she not only overslept her alarm and got to class ten minutes late, but when she was finally able to stop and grab a cup of coffee before her afternoon class she managed to spill it all over herself. And this with another class to go to, plus darkroom time to do her photography homework.  
  
And so Max goes through her entire day with a massive coffee stain on her shirt. Which is embarrassing in its own right, but it’s made worse by the fact that although she’s smelling coffee all day long she hasn’t actually gotten to _drink_ any. By the time she’s done with classes and photography, she’s an absolute zombie.  
  
The one silver lining is that her study date is at a coffee shop, so at least she’ll be able to finally get her caffeine fix. Granted, she’ll be getting it at seven o’clock at night and probably it’ll keep her up too late, thus potentially causing her to oversleep again and start the same horrible cycle of this day anew, but if she wants to keep her eyelids open long enough to study she’ll need to take that chance.  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” Max sighs as she slides into the seat her study buddy, Tim, left for her. “You would not _believe_ the day I’m having.”  
  
Tim raises an eyebrow as he takes in the sight of her: Max’s hair an uncombed and unwashed mess, her top more coffee stain than shirt, her eyes bloodshot and underlined with dark circles. “I believe it. You want me to buy you a coffee? I feel like I should buy you a coffee. And maybe a scone or something?”  
  
“Oh, god, any kind of food would be amazing.” Max’s stomach grumbles, seconding her words.  
  
“You take it black, right?”  
  
“Like mother nature intended,” Max affirms. She lowers her head to the table and tries to catch her breath while Tim goes to the counter and orders her food and coffee. She attempts to pull herself together somewhat when he returns, digging into her backpack for her notebook and a pen.  
  
They’ve barely begun to scratch the surface of their Philosophy 101 notes when Max is startled by a woman’s voice next to her. “Well, I’m told this coffee’s for you, but it looks like you’ve already had more than enough.”  
  
Max looks over, bewildered and mildly annoyed. The woman standing next to her is… holy shit, she’s amazing-looking. She’s so _tall_. She’s got these beautiful tattoos winding around each arm. Her ears are full of piercings. Her left eyebrow is pierced, too, as well as her right nostril. Her hair is short and blue. So are her fingernails.  
  
Max is suddenly acutely aware of how epically shitty she herself looks. “Uh… Whuh?”  
  
The woman - the barista, Max realizes, of course she’s the barista; she’s wearing a fucking apron and holding Max’s coffee and scone - gestures at her own chest with the small plate in her hand. “Because of your shirt? Because you’ve got, like, an entire cup of coffee on your-- You know what, never mind, that was the worst joke ever. But I come bearing coffee and one of the best scones in town, so at least your day’s looking up, huh?”  
  
“It certainly is,” is what Max would probably say if she had the slightest bit of chill. If she were suave, she might even toss in a pointed wink or something. Instead, she says, “_Yes, please_.” Like a complete tool.  
  
The (unfairly gorgeous) barista gives Max a somewhat puzzled look, then sets down her coffee and scone. “Don’t worry, I’ll be extra careful not to spill.”  
  
“Uh, me too,” Max replies uselessly. As soon as the barista’s safely back behind the counter, Max buries her face in her palms and groans. “Tim… Please tell me that was less embarrassing than it felt.”  
  
“Wait, was that you trying to _flirt_?”  
  
Max groans again. “Don’t say it so loud! If it wasn’t obvious, then maybe she didn’t realize and I’ll actually be able to show my face here again without immediately dying of embarrassment.”  
  
“Hmmm… You know, I think maybe she did realize.”  
  
“_Fuck_.”  
  
“No, no, that’s a good thing. She keeps looking over here.”  
  
“She what?” Max pulls her face out of her hands and steals a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, the (ludicrously hot) barista is looking right at her. She looks startled to be caught, too, immediately turning her head and vigorously wiping her rag on the counter when she notices Max looking back at her. “She’s probably just keeping an eye on the creepy weirdo…” Max takes a careful sip of her coffee.  
  
“I mean, maybe. I don’t think so, though. She’s checking you out again, by the way.”  
  
“I’m not going to look.” Max can feel her ears turning red. She hopes that the barista can’t see.  
  
“Suit yourself.” Tim shrugs. As Max returns her attention to her notebook, he suddenly cups his hand around his mouth and calls across the room, “Her name’s Max, by the way!”  
  
“Tim! Be cool!” Max hisses, flapping her hands at him.  
  
“Max, huh?” the barista calls back. Max can’t help but steal another glance at her. “Cool name! Mine’s Chloe!”  
  
“I’d give you her number, but I don’t want to shout the whole thing across the room!”  
  
“Tim, oh my god, shut up!” Max whispers urgently, tugging Tim’s arm down.  
  
“Understandable! Plus, no offense, but I’d rather get it from the source!”  
  
“Also understandable!” Tim calls back. “Hear that, Max? She wants your digits.” He leans back smugly. “You don’t have to thank me, by the way. Just be sure to invite me to the wedding.”  
  
Max shakes her head in exasperation and focuses on drinking her coffee. She’ll never be able to come here again. They’ll have to study at the library or something.  
  
Although…  
  
Max turns her head and catches a glimpse of the (really ridiculously attractive) barista whistling as she wipes down the front of the cold case.  
  
It really would be a shame to never come here again. They do have the best scones in town, after all.  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I originally started this with the intention of it being about Max moving deliberately through multiple timelines and realities to attempt to create the "right" time where everything would work out perfectly for her and Chloe. Obviously, that ended up not happening. I hope it was enjoyable anyway.
> 
> Thank you to my partner Velmax (even though I didn't make her beta this one) and to everyone who reads and enjoys this. Comments and kudos are always greatly appreciated!


End file.
